


The Anomaly Is The Test Itself

by nervoussurfer



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation
Genre: Absolutely Molasses Burn, Everyone's In A Completely Shitty Situation, Experimentation, Eye Contact, Florence Nightingale Effect, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Gay Romance, Guards; More Like Garbage, Homophobia, Horror Romance?, Human Experimentation, Ignoring protocol, Imbalanced Relationship (to start with at least), Imprisonment, Lunch, M/M, Racism, Revoked Name, Romantic Fluff, Rumors, SCP-2021, SCP-261 - Freeform, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Tags to be added, Unethical Experimentation, Wrongful Imprisonment, amnestics, hunger, vending machine shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussurfer/pseuds/nervoussurfer
Summary: INCIDENT LOG:Dr. Freeman is a bright young researcher in his late twenties, recently assigned to Site-██. He encounters a D-class designated as D-64242-35, and afterwards finds himself acting anomalously. Rather than acting rationally and informing his superiors, Dr. Freeman instead pulls a series of increasingly ridiculous stunts to keep both D-64242-35 and himself safe. Other researchers who observe these events wonder how long he can keep this up before the big idiot gets himself killed, or worse.





	1. Single-Sided Affections

Elias - rather, that is to say, D-64242-35, which is his name now, hard to remember that since it's such a damn mouthful - is beginning to think something hinky is going on here.

Of course, something hinky is usually going on at the Site, since there are so many bloody monsters galivanting about the place. Oh, sorry, SCPs. Not monsters. No, no. They're anomalies, if you have to call them a proper word. Not to mention that most of the ones on this Site could rip you apart in seconds, or worse, but no, we'll just call them anomalies.

Oopsies. It's not the job of a D-class to complain. He had better nip that in the bud.

Anyways, something's hinky, and it's not the Foundation - it is the Foundation, but not that way. No, the problem is that D-64242-35 isn't dead yet, when he'd been promised he would be deceased at a deadline that had passed months ago. It wasn't like he was suicidal or anything, it was just starting to put him on edge.

He couldn't quite pin-point where the strange things had begun. There was that experiment that he hadn't died during, which was a bit weird. Then his first month had ended - but there was a shortage of D's, so he was to be kept alive and given an amnestic. He was fine with that, he knew what was supposed to happen to him here, an amnestic wasn't that bad. But for some reason, the sweet void had never come. He'd been skipped over. For a few days, he even stopped getting food, until personnel realized they'd been skipping over him - though no reprimand or righting the mistake of his presence and life.

And after that, every month, like clockwork, something seems to fuck up with his paperwork, or with an experiment, or with the amnestics. One time, the amnestics had been replaced with 038-grown versions of 500, which was pretty fuckin' grand. Still, confusing. He had watched everyone he'd come here with die, and then the ones after those die, and then after and after and after. Yet he was the only one who lived. Lucky for him he seemed to have a forgettable face, since the personnel didn't seem to notice.

If he wasn't dying, then for what purpose was he still alive? The Foundation kept things on a tight leash, there had to be some reason they still needed him around.

D-64242-35 got up from his cot and began to pace in the small cell he called his home. Well, he never called it home, but it was the closest thing he had. There was barely enough room to piss in, but he needed to think, and pacing facilitated thinking. Even if you had to do a heel-turn every three paces. He'd tried to keep his theoretical mind under lock and key while here, living in an ignorant trance while waiting to die, but that didn't look like it'd be happening any time soon.

The first thought that came to his mind was, had he become a monster himself? An SCP, to be contained? It was possible they were just letting him believe he was still a D, but in truth had anomalous properties that they just couldn't terminate. But what the hell would that anomalous property be? If he had one, he certainly wasn't aware of it - still seemed like the average bloke, still felt like one. What if he was a reality bender, even able to hide it from himself? Or he had some timey-wimey bullshit, reversing the clock subconsciously to the day he was supposed to die?

No... he didn't think that was it. If he bent reality, they'd have him under better containment than this dinky, shitty little cell. And time bollocks couldn't be it, since different things kept happening - at least some events would have to remain, since things were scheduled and planned in advance. But if not that, then what?

For a moment, he considered perhaps it was a monetary manner, then almost laughed at himself. The Foundation wouldn't care about his money. If anything, he'd assume they had already acquired all of his financials. Slimy bastards. Hopefully they'd left the house alone - he didn't expect to live in it, ever again, not in this lifetime, but it would give him peace of mind that his home was just standing there empty and serene.

He stopped and took a breath, centering himself. Think, mate, think back. When did it start? Was it the first month, the D-shortage fuck-up? No, things were weird before then too - experiments getting cocked up before anything could possibly go wrong. The D's getting rinsed out for a new batch, leaving him high and dry. In a hurricane, high and dry is safe - but when you're shipwrecked, it's extremely dangerous.

His eyes snapped open. That first one - not his first experiment, but the first that went wrong. The very first weird thing. Who had been there, what had happened? There was him, there was a handful of D's - now all deceased, God rest their souls. There were a couple researchers, doctor types, and other personnel. But there was that... one doctor, who was he? D-64242-35 had seen him around other places too, now that he thought about it. Not too strange, they were all on the same Site. But oddly, this one sticks out to him - that's right! He'd been the one to cock up the experiment! What the bloody hell was that ponce's name, why couldn't he remember...

 

* * *

 

Dr. Freeman had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Morally and psychiatrically speaking, of course. He knew where he was physically.

Physically, he was standing in the observation bay of the test facility, preparing for an experiment upon an anomalous subject. Mentally, he was wondering if he'd accidentally encountered a memetic agent, because he was pretty sure he was going fucking crazy.

The experiment in question was upon SCP-2021 - yes, again, as if they hadn't already run the gamut of nonsense to put those things through. Apparently, an old test request had finally been approved by O5, so here they were, performing an inane, out moded test on an anomaly from two series ago. It's not like it wouldn't tell them anything they already knew.

Sorry, it is not the job of a researcher to talk back, merely to observe and test. He had better cut that line of thinking short.

Experiment A-19 was intended to follow a procedure with the objective of determining SCP-2021's nature and possible alternate dimension. Subjects, all D-class, would be given several instances of SCP-2021, with which they would set up a variety of matrixes and combinations at the behest of the researchers on call. There were a set of suggested matrixes, but researchers were at liberty to adjust the order or content at any time based on new observations. Basically, a bunch of shmucks standing around holding pieces of single-sided paper. Very necessary.

But, a good five or more years ago, some researcher had this bright idea about some sort of alternate dimension, and put in a test request. It wasn't too unbelievable that it hadn't been approved until now, in Dr. Freeman's opinion - bureaucracy behaved much like molasses, even without infinite ways to end the world on the line.

Dr. Freeman had sighed while milling around the observation bay, getting things in order before the D-classes came in. His coworker, Dr. Elephteria, was like-wise busy setting up the instruments. She was switching things on and checking the levels, basically everything Dr. Freeman himself wasn't sure how to do. He wasn't that kind of doctor, and these old bay rooms confused him. Dr. Elephteria had been working at this Site longer, so she knew how they worked, and had cheerily assured him that she'd handle it. So, all there was to do for him was to fiddle with paperwork and clipboards and wait.

The side-door of the test chamber opened, and the D-classes started milling in, prodded inside by the guards behind them. Dr. Freeman looked up at them absently, knowing he'd have to at least recognize their faces to properly designate their actions in the experiment log. That was where he had made his first mistake, and thus began constructing theories of having been infected or otherwise compromised in his mind.

Most of the D-classes were unremarkable, in that they were all varyingly human and average without many outstanding features. Normal-colored hair, skin, and regulation jumpsuits. They were idly chatting, murmuring to each other, likely about how they didn't wanna be here or other crude things that death row inmates might say. A completely standard group of D-classes, including the one that Dr. Freeman's eyes had settled on.

It was him. That D-class that he kept seeing around, passing by in the hall on the way to a test, noticing him from across the way. Dr. Freeman took up some of the files and flipped through them until he found him - yes, D-64242-35. A coincidence, possibly, but a horrible one. There were so many D-classes on this damn Site, how could the one that Dr. Freeman was occupied over just so happened to be under his experimentation?

Some pertinent information may need to be established. Dr. Freeman was, in fact, a gay man. None of his coworkers knew this, because it was private and personal information. It was possible his higher-ups knew, given the Foundation's tendency to dig into people's private secrets, but if so he certainly hadn't told them. Not that he was ashamed of it - he loved being gay. His mother had loved him just the same, and he was sure his absent father would've approved if he had ever showed up. It was simply personal information.

What Dr. Freeman didn't love so much was his tendency to be a hopeless romantic. This was also something he kept close to his chest. Romanticism wasn't something the Foundation valued, and his coworkers respected him better when they thought he was a buttoned-up, no-nonsense researcher. However, he often found his head turned by good-looking men and thoughts of weddings.

Getting to the point, D-64242-35 had struck Dr. Freeman as very... cute. Though mainly average, there was something about him that made Dr. Freeman just want to keep looking at him, despite the foolishness. Perhaps he'd been hit with some sort of infatuation-inducing viral by accident?

As casually as he could, Dr. Freeman checked over the matrixes they were meant to run today. With muted alarm, he realized that if his predecessor's theories had been right, these procedures could bring great harm to the subjects performing them. As the cogs turned in his head, Dr. Freeman began considering some very stupid and crazy ideas.

He glanced over to his fellow, "Is everything all good and set?"

Dr. Elephteria nodded, her ever-present cheer tugging slightly at her cheeks. "Everything should be good to go. Should be fairly easy - this SCP isn't known to go haywire or anything. Perfectly routine, yeah?" He had no idea how she stayed so reliably chipper. Had to be artificial.

Instead of commenting on her disposition, Dr. Freeman merely hummed in affirmation. "Perfectly routine. I'll head in and hand the instances over." Since SCP-2021 was not sentient or particularly volatile, it was Dr. Freeman who would be delivering it to the subjects. He was lucky for this, since otherwise his stupid, terrible, awful, dangerous, abnormal plan would not work at all.

SCP-2021 was sitting on a pallet which had handles, so it could be lifted without fear of accidentally touching the reverse side. He took another moment to consider, then hefted the pallet up. The stack of single-sided paper shifted slightly, and he corrected to make sure it didn't topple entirely. Not yet.

Approaching the door, he nodded to the guards, who stood aside for him to enter. The D-classes turned to look at him as he strode in - some sneered, some looked bored. He didn't blame them, honestly. D-classes may have a predisposition to crabbiness and vulgarity, but he doubted any human could be enthused when they heard they were to be fiddling with paper for a few hours.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Dr. Freeman tripped on his own feet, sending the pallet and SCP-2021 flying. Luckily, most of the pieces had landed obverse-side up, but a number higher than zero were reversed, which was expected but still aggravating.

"Ow! Heavens to Betsy, is the floor in here regulation?!" He grimaced at a couple of the D-class who were instinctively moving forward to try and help him pick things up, waving them away. "Don't! Don't touch it, stay very clear of the area, don't come close. I don't want any of you accidentally stepping on it, or anything stupid like that."

Though he tried not to focus on him, it was impossible to not see D-64242-35 at all while looking at the group of them. D-64242-35 tried to hide it behind a polite hand, but a small snort was audible and it seemed like he was biting back full laughter. The sight alone was enough to make any reprimand Dr. Freeman would get worth it. He pulled himself to his feet and made even bigger shooing motions to those still too close.

With an exaggerated, exhausted sigh, he turned to the double-sided mirror. "Sorry, accident. Suspend testing until I clean this up and we can start again?" A few moments passed, but the click of the door unlocking signaled that Dr. Elephteria had heard him and agreed. "Alright, all of you out. Go, go, give a wide berth." Dr. Freeman started to herd the D-classes towards the door, careful not to linger too close to D-64242-35. The temptation was there, but he was a consummate professional, damn it! Despite... having just sabotaged an experiment for selfish infatuation, with a criminal no less. The height of professionalism.

When the door opened, Dr. Freeman took the chance to talk to the guards. "To be honest, full wipe. These ones aren't going to listen to me after seeing me take a stupid spill like that, so may as well flush the batch. Take them back to their cells - still useful for other tests, of course. Try to get some from the non-violent crimes section - usually better for these arrangement-type experiments and more receptive to directions. Which is what I _thought_ I had requested in the first place, but apparently, according to their files, the researcher's wishes are to be ignored? Hm? Go on, then." Based on their expressions, it seemed Dr. Freeman had caught them being lazy and snagging any old D-classes without regard. Good, that whole spiel had been a gamble.

After they were all gone, Dr. Freeman relaxed, turned back to the mess, and got to work. Picking up papers is easy, but he also had to count them as he went. His nerves were such that he lost count several times and had to start over, until Dr. Elephteria started assisting him over the com system. She really was a gem.

After it was all counted, it appeared that 23 instances of SCP-2021 had been lost. Dr. Freeman grumbled and stroked his hands across the floor, trying to unearth more. 23, twenty-three pieces had been lost by his stupid gamble. Just how cute was this guy, that he'd let his hide get tanned for him? The pieces seemed to have completely vanished, without a trace. He picked the pallet up, set it on the table inside the testing chamber, and exited the door.

He returned to the observation bay, and soon the replacement D-classes had arrived. None of them were D-64242-35, and Dr. Freeman let go of a trapped breath. The test resumed as it should have, all requested matrixes performed to an average but acceptable degree. At the end, subjects reported three cases of agnosia, one partial agnosia and two full-body, and two cases of disappearance. As expected. Perhaps it wasn't death, which was always possible in the experimentation of an SCP, no matter the classification. But he was still content that he had managed to spare his favored D-class from agnosia, or vanishing potentially forever.

It was cruel, and selfish, to care about D-64242-35 but not any other D-class thrown into the lion's den. But he'd heard murmurs of other researchers carrying much, much worse sins. A man must be allowed his vice so that his virtue might shine even brighter. If his vice happened to be a singular, questionable, death row inmate, what did it matter? D-class were expendable, he could have this one. Couldn't he?

After the experiment ceased, all the D-classes returned to their cells, and the report written, Dr. Freeman was unsurprisingly called in for an interview about the incident. He stuck to his story - he had tripped, and maybe the floor in that facility should be checked for imperfections? As he'd lost a whopping 23 instances, he was reprimanded harshly. In honesty, he was guilty about that, he hadn't meant to lose so many. But whenever he remembered that smiling face, laughing at him but laughing all the same, a slap on the wrist for his serious breach of protocol didn't seem so bad.

 

_Dr. Freeman is no longer allowed to handle delicate testing materials on his own. When delicate materials and the doctor are both present, he should be assisted in handling it or a different staff member should handle it for him. -- Site Director Marcio_


	2. Soul-Heartedly Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Dr. Freeman and Elias do some investigating of their own, and both find what they needed, but perhaps not what they wanted.
> 
> This chapter contains mild homophobia and racism. If you would like to skip this section, stop reading at " Brownie laughed. "You know we don't got the luck! Hey, heard you went buggin' the teacher's pet this morning. What'd he say?" " and then feel free to continue reading at " D-64242-35 might've needed information, but if this was what it took, he couldn't stand it any longer. " It contains slightly pertinent information, but with a little deduction you can probably figure out what said information was without harming yourself. Please stay safe.

Today was Tuesday, early enough that it might've still been Monday. Not a soul in the office was stirring, save for Dr. Freeman's own. He was an early bird at heart - rather, he just preferred to avoid the twittering of the morning risers. Bafflingly, those that woke early seemed to enjoy chattering away, rather than indulging in some peace and quiet in the dawn hours. Therefore, he made it a point to show up even earlier than those types, to try and avoid it.

He put his bag next to his chair, then sat at his desk. The desk was organized, the majority of the surface clear of any clutter or stray papers. Every night, before Dr. Freeman left, he made sure to tidy up his desk, so he'd have a clean one to come back to in the morning. Sometimes he was a bit crunched for time on his little ritual, but he always managed to get it done. Every page went in a folder, and every folder went, well, somewhere. Anywhere that fit, so his desk could be clear.

With a contented sigh, he sank into his chair, flipping through his inbox for some forms to take care of. He had expected some files to come in over night, and they had, so now he had to sign off on all of them. The Foundation accumulated so much god-forsaken paperwork, he was sure they owned their own anomalous forest that they refined the paper from. Or some portal to a dimension made entirely of paper. Because, unless his math was off, this much paper would've deforested the entire damned planet twice over.

The work was easy, just boring. Dr. Freeman could mostly zone out while he worked, it's not like signing your initials 5 times was very hard. So when an hour and a half had passed without his noticing, he wasn't surprised. What did surprise him was the sound of someone's knuckles rapping on his doorframe.

"Hey." Leaning against Dr. Freeman's doorframe, with crossed arms and an easy grin, was Security Officer Jack Stein. This fucking guy. "You doing alright, pardner?"

Dr. Freeman didn't even bother moving, just gave him a side-glance as he continued sorting papers. "I am doing well. Sleepy morning but I'm here and alive as always." He sighed, "But I've learned that when you ask that, it's suspicious, so. What is it."

Stein's grin got more and more shitty the longer he stood there. "Heard a rumor, Freeman. Maybe saw a tape. Of a certain testing chamber? Ey?"

It was advisable to mainly ignore Stein's heckling, and Dr. Freeman had been about to tune him out, but the words just barely kept his attention. It was like the bright morning light had seared into his mind, shining on the dormant and groggy cogs of his higher thinking processes, and evaporated the dew-covered cobwebs so they'd start turning again. He slowly turned his chair to face the guard, hands clasped, fearing the worst. "I'm... sorry, could you elaborate?"

Stein had a rakish laugh, which tilted his head back. "If you swing by, I'll show you it. Quite a spill, doctor! You'd think a professional as yourself would be more graceful than that. Heard you got your ear chewed clean off 'bout how many got lost. It's real funny from a camera's-eye view, though, wanna see?"

Dr. Freeman couldn't suppress his ragged, irritated sigh. At least the camera couldn't look into his mind and film what he had really been thinking at that time. He was glad his intentions weren't obvious on film, but... less glad that he was now the laughing stock of the security office. "I'm sure it is. But no, Stein, I'm busy doing work. Don't you have any?"

"Oh, fine. S'pose I have some getting done to do, if you're gonna be a party pooper." Stein snorted and pushed off the doorframe, standing tall. "Just thought I'd let you know it's getting spread around. Maybe, in the future, you could be more careful. The offer to come by and see is always open..."

The guard walked away whistling before Dr. Freeman could come up with a retort. With an eyeroll, Dr. Freeman turned back to his desk. Usually, Stein didn't annoy him that bad, but Dr. Freeman just felt a little on edge this morning. Out of the veritable Brady Bunch that the security office was, Stein was one of the most irritating, but Dr. Freeman knew how to keep his head. Some days, though, he wished he didn't have such manners instilled into him. Or that Stein had those manners. The encounter had left an itch in his skin, an undirected desire to do something. He was doing something, he was signing off on these documents and making sure he's read this paperwork. But he needed something more... captivating.

When a nameless few walk by his office door, subtly peek through, and snicker " _Butterfingers..._ ", Dr. Freeman decided he'd had enough. He got up from his desk, which looked frankly a mess of papers at this point, and walked down the hall. It was amazing the benefits being tall granted you - square your shoulders with a neutral expression, and everyone assumed you were pissed and scattered out of your way. Dr. Freeman had no history of being violent or ill-tempered, but no one wanted to be the first incident on that list.

The room he was looking for wasn't hard to find, especially unimpeded. Opening the door, he was greeted with rows and rows of orderly filing cabinets. It took him a while, but he found what he was wanting and picked it out. And a few other things too, to cut down on suspicion. Then back down the hall, where he closed his door to read in peace.

Dr. Freeman laid the decoy files aside, and held out the manilla folder that contained what he most wanted to know - the documents for D-64242-35. He'd glanced over it before, he just... needed some time to read it closer.

Was this going too far? Was this weird? It's not like it was obsessive - the only other way to find out more about this strange little D-class would be to talk to him, and Lord, that wasn't going to be happening.

Maybe he should put it back.

Dr. Freeman opened the folder.

 

**DESIGNATION:** D CLASS 64242-35  
**CLEARANCE:** NONE  
**DATE OF TRANSFER:** 2/22/17

**RESIDENCE:** 51 Blossom St, Boston, MA 02114  
**PREVIOUS INCARCERATION:** Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center  
**CITIZENSHIP:** Dual Citizenship (England and U.S.A)  
**YRS. IN U.S.:** 16  
**BIRTHPLACE:** Hartlepool, England  
**BIRTHDATE:** 2/14/92

 

**CRIMINAL HISTORY:** Medical malpractice, criminal negligence, second-degree murder -- Accused was found guilty by a jury of his peers for the death of Colin Darrell, aged seven (7). After a surgery upon Colin Darrell, which the accused was head surgeon of, a surgical implement was found left in Darrell's chest cavity. The presence of this implement lead to his death two (2) weeks later. Plaintiff brought forth that Darrell's death may not have been accidental, due to the accused's history with the Darrell family. Accused plead not guilty to the charges. Accused charged with a life sentence in Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center.

**ADDITIONAL NOTES:**

Minimal military experience. High level of competency in medical knowledge.

See also Incident Log 16-5A9.  
See also Incident Log 67-3F1.  
See also Indicent Log 56-8I0.

 

Attached to this document with a paperclip, was a small photo of the subject. No need to add defining features to the document if you simply had a picture. Dr. Freeman gently removed it, gaze softening behind his glasses. The figure in the picture was facing the camera, wearing a sullen expression and a regulation jumpsuit. His short black hair was choppy and mussed, and not in a calculated way, more like he'd slept on it wrong and then several people had decided to give him a noogie. His skin was pale and dull, indicative of not seeing the sun for a while. But faintly, there was a smattering of freckles, suggesting that more would bloom if he ever did get some sun again.

So. He'd killed a kid. That was what he was here for. The cute criminal he'd grown a crush on wasn't some misunderstood rogue, he was a baby murderer.

Was that okay? Did the knowledge shift Dr. Freeman's perspective? It was expected that a D-class would come from death row - not all of them, but enough of them, certainly. Dr. Freeman was no fool, he had readied his heart for the inevitability that he'd find something truly horrible. Was he alright, continuing to pursue this foolishness, for a seemingly objectively awful person?

There were two sides to every story. 'Accused plead not guilty to the charges.' Lots of D-class dossiers said that, it didn't mean it was true. Dr. Freeman would like to get D-64242-35's side of the story. Was he going mad? Possibly. But nothing was proved by a brief 6 sentences in a very thin folder. There was no reason for this to end simply because of the past.

No, that wasn't true. In his heart, Dr. Freeman had been almost entirely convinced that D-64242-35 really was guilty. He had merely decided he didn't care. How far to go, for someone he'd only shared a few glances with.

He looked at the small picture again, and closed the folder while keeping the photo between his fingers. For a little while longer, he looked at it, propping his elbow on his desk and his cheek in his palm. Then, he put it face-down on the desk, and looked through the other files he'd snatched. Meaningless, none of these had anything to do with his field of study. Still, he looked them over just in case, at least to prevent having to go put them back so soon.

Hours passed, work moved forward. Dr. Freeman ate a granola bar at his desk for breakfast while he flipped through the next test order he had been assigned. Days on which he had paper work were boring, he did prefer days where he could put his degree to good use. But he could lose himself in it, methodically go through the ink and words, soothingly. He had to remember not to go too far, though, as it had been more than once he'd caught himself doodling on the corner of an important document. Thank 343 for Wite-Out.

Before he knew it, it was just about noon. Dr. Freeman put the document he was looking over down, and attempted to somewhat put his desk in order, mainly just putting papers to the side. He gathered up those files he'd taken this morning, with D-64242-35's tucked close and hidden. Picking up the small picture, he looked at it, thinking. His thoughts led him to slip the picture in his pocket, rather than the folder. Then he left his office, leaving the door open.

Just a hop and a skip down the hall, the files were back in their beds. Everything was right back where it belonged, like it had never left. Well, not everything. But who would care about one small picture of a D-class? It would be ages before anyone found it misplaced, and copies could be planted in the meantime.

He could hear the passing chatter of people heading to the cafeteria for lunch. Waiting for a small group to pass by the door, he quietly slipped out of the filing room and headed the same direction they were.

Many passed by in the hallways - those heading the same way, those who had taken an early lunch and were coming back, those who were crunching to get things finished so they could go eat. Still more, those who took late lunches and were just going about normal work for the next hour. Those who didn't need to eat at all. Dr. Freeman didn't pay mind to most of them - many people worked on the Site, and many he knew. He was happy enough recognizing faces, briefly, like a bird flying by another of its kind in the big wide sky. But in the current of people moving towards the cafeteria, a small group was working against the stream - a face Dr. Freeman knew well, given he'd been staring at it all morning.

A researcher was leading a handful of D-class, one of them being D-64242-35. At this time of day, usually tests involving D-class weren't done, since everyone needed to eat. But judging by the way they were headed, Dr. Freeman figured they were on their way to 261. Like a magnet, his eyes were locked on to D-64242-35. He should really get a move on, he was being jostled, but...

D-64242-35 looked back, and their eyes met. He looked surprised, and Dr. Freeman could relate to that. His eyes were enchanting, vibrant blue and green. If only eyes really were a window to the soul, and he could see exactly how the other saw him.

Dr. Freeman was really, really losing it. He was in too deep. With much reluctance, he broke eye contact, and kept moving. Maybe he was going delirious with hunger. A good meal would snap him out of this.

He realized he was getting obsessive, but he also didn't want to stop.

 

* * *

 

The hall was crowded, but due to the amount of personnel on site, there was only a certain threshold of congestion it could reach. It never got very bad - this was about as cramped as it ever got, and there was still enough room for a small group to move around with space to breathe.

Right now, D-64242-35 was being transported to some other test, at lunchtime of all times. He'd heard a rumour passed down that this SCP was some kind of vending machine, though, so if he got some food out of it then forget his whinging. Maybe he'd get lucky and get something fishy - not vending machine fare, for sure, but anything could happen with an anomalous object. He was beginning to miss the taste.

While he was out among the living, he might as well scan the crowd for interesting faces. Especially a certain face, one he hadn't seen in a while - that doctor he remembered from the first botched test. He had no proof this was caused by him, of course, it was just his only lead. Maybe, if only he could talk to him, he could figure out what was going on.

Or maybe, if he talked to him, it would spell his death. Whether that was preferable to continuing to live in confusion, he could not yet say.

A peripheral glance startled him out of his reverie. A tall, dark-skinned man - his eyes scanned the crowd again, until he locked eyes with the one he'd caught a glimpse of. That was him.

The doctor from back then - the hazy memory became clear again when D-64242-35 took in his face. Short, dark brown hair, coily and barely contained. Glasses framed his hazel eyes, semi-rimless with yellow sides. He looked surprised, and D-64242-35 empathized - he too was quite shocked to see the other after so long. They were both on the same site, so really, it was only a matter of time. He watched the doctor swallow, and keep staring, and he realized - this was a game of chicken. Well, he wouldn't be losing.

The doctor, he couldn't lie, was fairly good looking. He was tall - not just taller than D-64242-35, since most people were, but properly tall. He looked healthily fit, too, sort of nerd-jock chic. And his eyes... so serious, so deep. He wouldn't stop staring, and D-64242-35 wasn't the type to get bashful, but he would be working up to it if this went on any longer.

But then contact broke. The doctor left. And D-64242-35 was led on, snapped at by the researcher for dawdling.

Well. If anything could indicate that the doctor had a hand in his death's mismanagement, that would be it.

D-64242-35 lost himself in thought as he was shuffled down the hall. Was he overthinking this? A stare didn't mean much - a contest that long was strange, but perhaps the doctor was just exceedingly awkward. Well, that would be true no matter what the stare meant. He felt like he was missing something, some small piece that would solve all of it. If only he could talk to the doctor, but he didn't know how to do that without it being suspicious. Not to mention he didn't even know the man's bloody name.

'Yes, hello, could I please speak to a doctor? A specific one, he's black and real tall and proper fit. Don't know his name, but I think he's been mucking with my files.' That would go over perfectly well, he was sure.

They rounded the corner, and inside what seemed to be a plexiglass lockbox, was a tall, featureless vending machine. The researcher attending them unlocked the clear door, and started explaining how the thing worked. He tuned her out - it was a minging vending machine, it couldn't be that hard.

He had to find a way to learn more about the doctor, in an inconspicuous way. He was already at a disadvantage, being D-class - he would never be allowed to do anything other than say 'yes sir' and throw himself into the maw of a monster. If only he could think of something, he was wracking his brain for any loophole.

The first test subject had gotten her prize from the machine. It seemed to resemble a ramen packet, with packaging in, probably Korean? Based on the graphics, he'd guess it tasted like salmon. The subject asked if she'd be allowed to eat it, and the researcher said something about Health and Safety, and D-64242-35 tuned out again.

Maybe he could give the guards the slip in the next lunch crowd and go snooping. But, no, he'd still be in the jumpsuit and cuffs, he wouldn't have clearance to damn near anything. That'd really get him killed, and at this point, he didn't want that - not before he cracked into the truth of the matter.

The next one up put in the coins, and out rattled something that looked like some sort of Russian soda. The D-class groaned and asked if he could have another go, and the researcher hemmed and hawwed around saying 'no', and the two of them started arguing. It escalated into something heated, and a guard was called over to take the D away. The researcher plucked the strange can from the prisoner's hands and slipped it into her coat pocket.

Alright, if he couldn't go as himself, he'd just somehow have to knock out one of the personnel and switcheroo their clothes. Immediately, the idea was laughable. As the boys on the playground had teased him when he'd moved to America, he had "toothpick wrists". No amount of aging or filling out had really changed that. He saw himself as more of an artistic type - who needed muscles? As he stood right now, though, overpowering anyone would not really be an option.

A sharp snap of "D-64242-35!" snapped him out of his thoughts - damn, how could she rattle it off so quickly? The researcher is tapping her foot waiting on him, while he stares at her like a dazed goldfish. Right, well, he'd made enough of a fool of himself for one day, let's get this stupid vending machine show on the road. He tried to squint at her nametag to see her name, but it seemed that the glare from the overhead lights was obscuring the plastic, and he didn't care enough to try any harder than that.

He stepped forward, and three clinking little coins were placed into his palm. It really wasn't that bloody hard, he just popped them in and pressed some buttons, like any other self-respecting vending machine. The researcher had told him to press some specific buttons, which was fine by him. The machine clunked and clanked and shook, just like normal. Soon, out rattled D-64242-35's prize.

It was a medium-sized tin, and when he picked it up he could hear multiple objects rattling around inside. On top was the depiction of a smiling black woman with a multi-colored headscarf, and the words "Big Mama's Soul Fix-in's!" That... was concerning, as his mind jumped immediately to thinking about this Big Mama's real immortal soul.

His concern didn't drown his curiosity, however, and he popped the tin open before either of the guards could stop him. A puff of steam greeted him, all of the food kept warm. Inside was a small array of food items. In one corner there was a collection of these round, breaded thingies, mixed with these more oblong ones that looked like there was something green inside. In another, and taking up most of the tin, was something he definitely recognized - fried fish. The breading looked a tad different from how he'd usually had it, but he'd take it no matter what. What a roundabout but welcome way for his fish 'n chips prayers to be answered. Next to the fish, in a little cup, seemed to be some type of soup? Looked like there was shrimp in it. Finally, wrapped in plastic and squeezed against the wall to fit, was a very thin slice of cake. Red velvet cake. Jesus. He was going to kiss this vending machine.

The tin was roughly taken out of his hands, and he took a breath to keep calm. He'd likely be getting it back - so they could make him eat it and see if it made him explode or not. They'd foregone his lunch to bring him here, so he was fairly hungry - the Foundation were assholes, but they weren't just mean, they wouldn't...

"When can I get that back, then?"

The researcher looked up from her notes, having been writing down a description of the soul tin. "After Health and Safety gives it a look over, make sure it doesn't secretly have anthrax baked in or something. It looks more or less safe to me, but, never skip precautions! Alright, we're done here, you boys can take, uh, D-64242-35 back to his cell and drop off the specimen on the way."

The guards both nodded, and one gestured with a hand for D-64242-35 to follow. No need to drag him along, they'd learned he could be a good boy. Though they still stayed close, ready to grab him if he got any ideas. The walk would be sedate, if not difficult for his hunger - the smell of that soul food had really gotten to him. After a while, as if the guards had forgotten about him, they started to talk amongst themselves.

"S' gonna be a long day, huh?" The one on the right, with cropped brown hair, said.

"Yeah, man. 'Pparently a couple new skips are getting transferred in - hopefully we don't get assigned to em, ey?" That one was a blonde, so light it was almost white. He had a grin like a shark.

Brownie laughed. "You know we don't got the luck! Hey, heard you went buggin' the teacher's pet this morning. What'd he say?"

Blondie snorted. "Aw, he just told me to leave him alone." He shifted his weight, holding his gun in a more comfortable, less ready position. "Wish he'd'a snapped, even if he'd'a hurt me. Freeman ain't no fun, you know - acts like a damn idiot, I can't believe he's got a real doctorate. You think he cheated for it?"

His companion frowned, gaze flicking back to D-64242-35. "Should - uh - should we be talking about this with the, the Disposable back there?"

"You said it yourself," Blondie huffed. "Disposable. He don't know what we're talking about, and if he did, wouldn't be able to act on it before he gets ganked soon. Ain't that right, lil fella?"

D-64242-35, for once in his choleric life, didn't talk back. He settled for just a scowl.

"Right. Anyhow, what do you think about Freeman?"

"I think if he managed to get in here without a PhD, he'd be mighty smart, rather'n stupid. Nah, I dunno what he's got his degree in, but it must be somethin' stupid. Maybe it's fuckin' Art Studies. I mean, what kinda idiot can't carry _a stack of paper_ across the damn floor?!"

The both of them laughed like hyenas, not noticing how wide D-64242-35's eyes had suddenly gotten. That couldn't be a coincidence. Just how many people had recently taken a spill with an important stack of paper? What had they said his name was - Freeman? He itched to ask them questions, confirm his suspicion, but these jackals would never listen to him. He'd be better off waiting and listening.

"If y' ask me, that's just proof he's the Director's pet project. Favoritism at work. If he's being groomed to take the spot, I swear -"

"Calm down there, hot rod. Director Marcio's smarter than that. Don't get your panties in a twist, daddy ain't forgot his favorite baby-" The Blondie started cooing and pinched Brownie's cheek, making him protest and push the other off.

"Don't be so gay! I don't got a crush on the guy, Jesus, I just don't wanna work under such an airheaded fairy. If the Director wanted to keep him around, he should just make him Security - he'd be better at it, big fuckin' lug that he is. Or maybe Field, so we wouldn't have to deal with him."

"Don't wanna be underneath a guy, huh? I don't wanna get fucked by Freeman neither - guy's a pansy, you can see it in his eyes. Foundation's losing its way, hirin' guys like this." Blondie chuckled.

D-64242-35 might've needed information, but if this was what it took, he couldn't stand it any longer. What bloody vultures. He'd become very practiced at tuning out the words around him, so that's exactly what he did. Luckily, they soon came to the Health & Safety department, and the guards handed over his little tin of food. Then they took him down to the cells, which weren't far away, and locked him away with nary a ta-ta.

He sighed and sat on his little cot, stomach rumbling. Hopefully whatever fuckin', _anthrax scan_ they had wouldn't take long. Now he was alone with his thoughts and his gnawing stomach.

Freeman. His name was Freeman. At least, he figured possibly, from the details the guards had given. That was a start. Maybe he still couldn't walk freely or look through records or anything, but he had a name. He tucked that name close to his heart - realizing, that name was the only name he really knew around here. Despite having barely seen him... Freeman was the closest person he had, here.

He'd have to hope this Freeman was an ally, rather than an enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES the timeline of this is a mess YES we're just going to ignore it and keep chugging along. maybe I'll edit the first chapter at some point but hardly anyone reads this fic so until further notice i just don't care. yes i've noticed, no i can't be arsed  
> feel free to ask questions about anything !! i might not answer you because of spoilers but feel free to ask !! these boys have got a LOT of backstory lemme tell ya what... some things in here are easter eggs, but some things are filler, so don't think too hard about something if it doesn't make sense - just ask!  
> see y'all in like... another month probably, lmao

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not solid on every function of the Foundation, so let me know if any of this was wildly outside of the realm of belief! Some of it is supposed to be, a little, but not too much so let me know! One of these characters belongs to my sweetheart, Bri - can you guess which one?  
> This could probably fit in the Tales section of the site, but I'm kinda new and unsure how things work, and I dunno if they'd think kindly of my first work being gay romance fluff involving a doctor defying the Foundation lmao  
> I hope you enjoy it, but if no one reads this I won't be too sad. I'm mainly writing this for Bri~


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